


Any Colour You Like

by NotALemon



Series: Boys Boys Boys (& Other Songs On My Nightsilver Playlist) [13]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Also SHUT UP SCOTT, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, But You Know What They're Gonna Do When They Wash That Dye Out, Fluff, Hair Dyeing, If They Wanna Get it on in the Bathroom Just Let Them!, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kurt "Borrows" Peter's Shirts and Peter Doesn't Mind at All, M/M, Making Out, No Smut, No Song Lyrics, Peter is Horny On Main, They're Flustered and Cute Okay, This is the Most Sexual One Yet, Yep They're Playing Tonsil Tennis in the Bathroom, Yes Yes All the Awkward, you know ;) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 03:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19455316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: “Like, your streaks,” Peter says, regretting starting this entire conversation. “The blue bits?”“Ja?”“They’re fading, man.” Peter shoves his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t smack himself. “And, uh, y’know, if you wanna dye ‘em again, I can- I can help you.”





	Any Colour You Like

Kurt’s streaks are almost gone. Peter notices this because, duh, Peter notices _everything_ , including his boyfriend’s awesome fucking blue streaks. Kurt doesn’t really mention it, but Peter’s really starting to miss them, the more they fade. 

That’s how Peter ends up with a box of blue hair dye and a box of bleach under his bed, waiting for the first opportunity he can get to offer them to Kurt. He takes that opportunity, after training in the Danger Room. 

“You know your hair?” 

Kurt looks at Peter with the same face he has when he tries to figure out idioms. Shit, he probably thinks “You know your hair?” is some sort of idiom. 

“Like, your streaks,” Peter says, regretting starting this entire conversation. “The blue bits?”

“ _Ja_?” 

“They’re fading, man.” Peter shoves his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t smack himself. “And, uh, y’know, if you wanna dye ‘em again, I can- I can help you.” 

Kurt holds his hands against his chest, tilting his head just the slightest bit to smile at Peter. “That is nice of you. _Danke_.” 

“Hey, man,” Peter says, about to launch into a spiel about how much he _loves_ Kurt’s hair, the streaks twisting through his curls in the mornings, how they stand out against the black of his hair and match his skin almost perfectly. “It looks really good,” he says, lamely. 

“ _Danke_ ,” Kurt says, running a hand over his hair shyly. 

“Like, _really_ good.” 

Kurt smiles, a shy, wholesome look. Peter grabs the boxes out from under his bed to hide how giddy he is. 

“Let’s go,” Peter says. He takes Kurt’s hand and lets Kurt BAMF them off into the bathroom, where Peter grabs the most threadbare towel he can possibly find. He’d helped his mother dye her roots before, helped Wanda dye her hair during her ill-fated punk period, so he’s kinda almost an expert. Almost. 

Kurt takes off his- Peter’s- black AC/DC t-shirt. Peter’s reminded of what it’s like to be a dumb, horny teenager again, salivating over guys taking their shirts off in the summertime or the bottom of a girl’s back as she raises her arms. Kurt takes the towel from Peter without realizing that Peter’s popping a boner over him. Young, dumb, and full of cum. Yup, yup, and yup. 

“You’re helping me, _ja_?” 

Peter clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, uh…” Peter tries to look anywhere except Kurt’s chest. It’s really hard not only because Kurt’s super toned from hero work and all the gymnastics he does, but also because of the scars littering it, counting his sins. It’s ridiculous. He’s touched those scars, traced them, licked them, and looking at them makes Peter really hot and bothered. 

“Vaseline,” Peter blurts, without context. Shit, way to sound like a creeper. Yeah, just yell out the name of the lube you and your boyfriend use while (hopefully) alone in the bathroom with him. Great. Cool. Awesome. 

Kurt flushes purple. “I…” 

“It’s for your neck!” Peter rubs the back of his. “It’s so the dye doesn’t stain your skin.” 

“Ah,” Kurt says, gnawing on his lip. “We have some, don’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, way too fast. “Yeah, I’ll get it.” And before Kurt can say anything, Peter’s gone, running off to their room to get their- their Vaseline. Their fucking _lube_ that they use for _sex_. Jean would have a field day if she was near. She probably is, if she isn’t off in Scott’s room. 

Peter returns to find Kurt still shirtless, blinking at Peter when he reappears. Gone one second, back the next. 

“Okay,” Peter says, holding the tub in one hand and resting the other on Kurt’s shoulder. “Let’s do this.” 

He slathers his fingers in the Vaseline, desperately trying not to think about sex. That class where Professor X talked about Pavlov and his dogs is coming back to mind. Get your shit together, Peter. You’re not a dog. You’re an adult man. 

Peter rubs the Vaseline on Kurt’s neck and the shells of his ears, then gently pulls Kurt’s hair back with his dry hand to rub it around his hairline and forehead. He brushes his fingers through the hair, trying to comb out any tangles, and presses a light kiss to the top of Kurt’s head, the intimacy of the whole thing finally getting to him. 

“Ready?” 

Kurt nods, looking up at Peter with his soft yellow eyes. 

“Cool, cool.” Peter takes out the box of dye. “Um, do you want me to bleach your hair? Did you have to bleach it last time?” 

Kurt reaches up to touch his hair with his own fingers. “Bleach. Bleach. _Bleichen_? Like… like when you make your hair _hell_?” 

Peter blinks. There’s always been a slight language barrier between them, because Kurt might be relatively fluent in English, but he still doesn’t have the same grip on it that Peter does, and Peter doesn’t know much more than conversational German and some compliments. “Hell?” 

“Like yours,” Peter says. He touches Peter’s silver hair. 

“Never dyed it, but yup.” Peter opens the bleach box and mixes it together on the sink countertop. God, it reeks of chemicals, almost knocking him out. Her gags and continues to work on his mixing work. 

Kurt looks at Peter with curiosity. “Your hair is always like that?” 

“Since I was born, yeah.” Kurt leans against the edge of the sinks, towel wrapped around his shoulders. “Wanda got magic, and I got cool hair. Red hair’s pretty cool, too, but… c’mon. Silver.” 

“ _Du bist sehr hübsch_ ,” Kurt says, moving from the edge of the sinks to behind Peter, wrapping his arms around his middle. He knows exactly what he’s doing, too. 

Peter shudders. “Do you want your hair dyed, or your world rocked?” 

Yes, smooth. So smooth. The smoothest. 

Kurt lays his face against Peter’s neck, mumbling something in German while he tightens his grip on Peter’s middle. 

“Yeah, Blueberry,” Peter says, kissing his forehead through his hair. “We’ll get to that.” He strictly doesn’t mention his boner, poorly hidden by his leather pants. Fucking leather pants look cool as hell, but their boner-hiding capabilities? Poor at best. Peter resists every stupid, horny part of him that makes him want to grind back against Kurt in the fucking bathroom, where anyone could walk in. 

He feels like a champ for his upstairs brain overriding his downstairs brain. Hell yeah, he's adulting. 

“C’mon, we’re gonna bleach your hair.” 

Kurt looks at Peter in the mirror. “All of it?” 

“No,” Peter says, putting on gloves. “Just streaks. Sit on the counter.” 

Kurt obeys, feet dangling off the ground, tail swishing in anticipation, palms flat against the countertop. 

Peter stands on his tiptoes and brushes the bleach through Kurt’s hair in long streaks. He hums along to snatches of Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin as he tries to make everything straight and speedy. 

“You haven’t done your hair before,” Kurt says. 

“Nope,” Peter says, touching up the side of one streak. “All-natural silver.” 

“Do you want to?” 

Peter chews the inside of his cheek before removing a piece of gum from his pocket. Thank you, Jubilee, for your constant gum-chewing. She only chews the good stuff. “Sure,” he says. 

“The whole thing, or, uh…” Kurt draws a line in the air with his finger. 

“Streaks?” 

“Streaks!” 

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do it.” 

“You want to?” Kurt’s eyes sparkle. He’s beautiful, even sitting on a bathroom counter with bleach in his hair and Vaseline on his neck. Peter leans in to kiss him for a moment, keeping it chaste and gentle. 

“Totally.” Peter grins at him, gum between his teeth, and gives him another kiss. And another. And another. And they kinda lose track of time because they’re making out, Kurt on the counter and Peter between his knees, one of Peter’s hands cupping Kurt’s ass and the other cupping his soft face. Kurt wraps his legs around Peter’s waist and arms around his middle, and he scratches Peter’s back just right to make him whimper. 

“Jesus,” Scott says, and they both jump. “And you make fun of me and Jean.” He leans in the doorway, judging them. 

“Shut up,” Peter says. He holds Kurt close to him, protective as ever. Yeah, Peter knows he’s a little shit, a real criminal and technical felon, but fuck him if he won’t at least try to protect Kurt. 

Scott shakes his head and leaves the bathroom. 

Kurt’s clutching Peter’s shirt, legs wrapped tighter around Peter’s waist. “Maybe we should wait for later?” 

“Probably, yeah.” Peter goes to blow a gum bubble, but there isn’t any in his mouth. “You stole my gum.” 

Kurt smiles at him, unable to blow a bubble because of his sharp teeth. 

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Peter almost shoves his tongue back in Peter’s mouth and stops himself. They’re in a bathroom in a school of superpowered children. There’s no way Peter’s pride will allow them to be the horniest person in the entire school. 

“You should wash that bleach out,” Peter says, getting them back on track. Ah, the struggles of being a responsible adult. 

Kurt nods, removing the towel from around his shoulders and walking over to a shower stall. He turns the water on cold (finding out Kurt likes cold showers kinda sucked, thinking you’re gonna have shower sex and freezing to death instead) and sticks his head under the water, running his hands through his hair. 

Peter watches from a distance, trying to keep his hands (and dick) to himself. 

When Kurt’s done washing the bleach out, running his fingers through his wet hair. “Does it look _gut_?” 

Peter grins at him. The blond in his hair looks out of place and a little messy. It’s perfect. He walks from the sinks to Kurt, scooping him up. “Looks good. Let’s put in the blue.” 

“I can walk.” 

“Why walk?” 

“I don’t need to be carried.” Kurt doesn’t try wiggling out of Peter’s arms, which Peter counts as a win. 

Peter hums and makes his way back to the homemade dye station, letting Kurt sit on the counter again while he mixes up the hair dye. 

“It is nice that you’re helping me.” 

“I missed the streaks,” Peter says. “They’re cute.” 

Kurt rubs the back of his hands against Peter’s arm. “You are nice.” 

“Kinda selfish,” Peter says, not mentioning that he stole the dyes he’s stirring. “Ready, blueberry?” 

Kurt looks at him and nods. 

Peter kisses his nose before painting over the blond. Finally, there’s the signature, familiar blue Peter fell in love with. Well, Peter fell in love with all of Kurt. Pretty fast, too, in typical fashion. 

“You’re thinking hard,” Kurt observes. 

“Thinking about you.” 

Kurt smiles at his own lap. Adorably shy. 

“Don’t move your head.” Peter knows he’s being hypocritical. Don’t move. Ha! Like Peter’s ever listened to that shit before. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Your hair’s good when it’s blue.” Peter carefully covers up the final blond streak with the blue dye, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “You look good in blue.” 

“Will you let me dye you?” 

Peter shrugs. “Go ahead.” 

Kurt’s face lights up, eyes sparkling bright gold. G-d help him, he’s in so deep. Peter smiles a crooked smile. 

“Whatever you want.” 

Kurt picks up the dye, dipping the brush into it and separating a chunk of Peter’s hair from behind his ear. His tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on painting the hair. 

“We match,” Kurt says. His eyes crinkle at the edges. How is he this cute all the time? 

Peter tucks the rest of his hair behind his ears so the blue doesn’t bleed through. He steals a kiss, chaste and gentle, unlike what they did earlier. It can wait for later, when they’ve washed all the dye out and are in the peace of their room. Now, they can stand in the bathroom, the chemical smell of bleach and dye around them, and have this moment while the blue sinks in. “Yeah. We do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes hello. I've been really stressed out lately (when am I not?) and, you can guess what I did. Yes, I wrote Nightsilver fluff. It's good for me, after finishing _Watchmen_ and getting **emotionally destroyed**. Good for my sad, sad soul. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments! I know I say that a lot, but I seriously mean it. I'm amazed that people actually like my stuff. Thank you so very, very much!
> 
> The title, Any Colour You Like, is ripped straight from a Pink Floyd song that's in my [ Nightsilver Playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/grammaticalhermit/playlist/6uJsZY2gCggt2Hj2xM0ITv?si=1rDK0OcGQw2T9ZCy7oYQhg). All my titles come from song lyrics (or, in this case, titles).


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